"Actually. Not bad for a place without gravitational manipulation."
Stanley walked out of the room, slightly impressed at the infrastructure surrounding him, but disappointed once again, like a sour critic. The sun shone.
On his left and right were people who had also completed their inspection. They had their own wooden rooms and doors, connected like hotel rooms. The doors stretched from left to right, about three hundred on each side, as an estimate. In front was the more captivating part. The pavement had patterns and was slightly flat and steady, connecting to a plaza of merchants and international traders. Connecting northeast from the plaza was a trail which led to a faraway amphitheatre, similar to an announcing area for prizes and talent. North from the plaza seemed to be a government building, beautifully decorated in chiselled stone and refined wood, with a tiled roof — a place for either philosophy or meetings. Surrounding the plaza were excellent two-storey buildings made of clay, bricks, or something similar. Greenery, hedges, and dirt were all kept nicely neat as decorations put around the buildings, plaza, and trails. Many more trails led to more places inside East Bliford. Many people filled the described area in a way that flowed correctly, letting people walk down and up without crowding and lines around spaces.
Stanley liked to think with body gestures sometimes. He put his left hand on the left side of his head.
The people controlling this city are probably part of the Empire. They know other planets and solar systems; I can definitely get back home whenever I'd like. I just don't know where to go.
In the rooms near Stanley, people came out every few seconds, all walking casually to the plaza with certainty, down stairs, paths, trails, businesses, and rooms, all with a goal.
Stanley merges with the crowd, blending in and walking around with an expression of absence, wondering while forgetting his goal right now, thinking about his past worldly ideas.
All these people who surround me all have acting potential. They all look like they could express emotions from reading a simple script. Beautiful nature lies on every single inch of their faces, bodies, eyes, and limbs. These people — I can see cinematic quality. I can imagine even the smallest shopkeeper and the tallest writer having an amazing acting career. It is appealing to me.
He thought about these things while sitting on a wooden bench, staring without creepiness, but with blankness. He could not express his true thoughts, unconsciously.
People walked around simply. Many in Bliford did not have clothing freedom, wearing what was required, and keeping accessories around to have uniqueness — either to tell the difference between jobs or to stand out.
A hush plop landed near Stanley. A woman sat down on the same bench while using some sort of communication device. A pale woman, similar to a person with albino skin and hair. She expressed herself with gentle, demure body language and dour eyes. Her hair reached gently to her military uniform. A formal woman, talking while sitting.
"H-hmmph," leaked like a whisper out of Stanley's mouth.
Stanley stood up to walk to any other place but the bench.
Following the pavement, and the curling in his stomach, led him to a food stall out in the food section of the plaza. Walking. Turning. Viewing. Not much here could fill him up if they were only selling snack-sized portions.
"Heya, young biddo! You look like a man of real taste. Am I wrong?"
The middle-aged lady in front of him was pointing with her left index finger with confidence and winked.
Food. I've never tried food this far out in the Empire; I am slightly worried. Maybe interested.
"What are you selling to me?"
"I sell Doired. It tastes like Umanu, but sweet and fresh — like eating a dense pig while drinking your favourite sweet drink. I'd recommend it if you need to fill your stomach."
"My favourite drink? What types can I have?"
"For you, I'd recommend the combination of grainy whites."
"Ah, say less. How much for it?"
"12.20."
"Yeah, thank you for this!"
Walking away, he hears the calm music and ambience of the area he is in. Birds calling while the trees breeze. The awfully loud chatter in the community. They counter each other, but mix perfectly to create an ambience of cosiness that makes introverts want to have a conversation.
I definitely know that there is a way out of here. Will it cost me?
This realisation struck Stanley's calmness away. His body language seemed bleak, but his face was detailed with confusion.
Enjoying his meaty meal while walking down the pavement, which most civilians were using, filled Stanley with a swirly feeling of being left out and alone, admiring, if only slightly, the accuracy of everything around him.
Small details can be so infuriating, yet show the effort of whoever did such things — buildings, food stands. I mildly like the details. Does human smuggling exist? That will be my last pick; I don't need to rely on random strange guys while I can rely on myself. I am amazing.
These thoughts about the knowledge of common ideas circulate in Stanley's brain while he follows a pavement that is just like a city-block path — straight, with plenty of areas around to turn. Stanley puts his right hand in his pocket while holding his meal in the other.
I feel so mysterious. So nonchalant. Though this is hard to keep without being awkward.
He quickly switches back to holding with two hands while eating and walking.
Hmm. My feet are walking on a weird texture. Is this even concrete, or Rotrane? The pavement isn't concrete. It feels firmer and softer to the touch.
He moves out of the way of travel, to the left, to bend over on his left knee to examine and test the material. Reaching out to touch gave him an interesting texture. He could tell from walking on it that something of unknown mineral made this. Smooth. Abrasive. Those two words counteract each other, yet describe the sensation that loaded Stanley's hand.
This. I know this.
His mind searches his memories in a fast blur, looking for the right thought.
I feel this texture and rock in my hometown! It has such a unique name. I cannot recall such things right now. I am hopeless if I can't name a metamorphic rock.
He beat himself up in a playful manner. Stanley gets up and walks with the other people.
Where am I going? I am worried.
He turns his head in every direction with calm movements. At the end of the path he was walking on led him to a government-looking building.
Looking slightly up in a gentle, miserable way, he saw the building.
I can't read this. I can't deal with this again. This building absolutely looks like a political building. I can probably find another info guy stationed inside. But — is this even remotely close to a police or government place? It looks more like a rich fucks' business. I can't make a fool out of myself; I have a reputation to uphold.
Close to him stood a well-polished building with three floors. The material used had the look of polished granite. Pillars were constructed around the building like ancient Greek buildings. The roof, too, was a tiled roof, which poured water down fine. Anyone would assume it to be a government building until they read the emblem and name designed onto the front of it. Stanley was quite aware.
He looks around. Many people in business and work clothes wander and move. He picks out his target and calls out.
"Hey! Man in tradespeople's clothes!"
A few people look at Stanley, confused and bothered. He points to whom he is looking at.
"Don't worry, I only want a few questions answered."
Stanley walks with confidence and a grin to a bearded man of the same height.
"Can you tell me what that building is?"
The man looks where he points, then looks back at Stanley, right in the eyes.
"The Monad Distribution Company headquarters." The man was not impressed, and slightly annoyed with Stanley's joyful voice.
Motherfucker. He doesn't like the look of me. I hate you, bearded fuck. You could've matched my personality, but you look at me with disgust.
He thought this while grinning and looking anywhere but the man's eyes.
"So — anywhere you think I could go to get some information on where I am?"
His tone matched the man's. The man turned his upper body left and pointed with his thumb behind his back.
"I don't know for biddy's. If you aren't one, then go that way and turn on Lionsdale Road, walk right, and enter a bazaar. You'll find a place where you might get some info. Based on what I see, you'll like that place."
Stanley understood the language hidden between tone and words. He guessed the man was trying to lead him somewhere bad.
Fuck this. He could be telling the truth. But I know guys like him wouldn't care if I died. Then again, it could be the truth. My doubt is overthinking my brain.
"Well, thanks, sir. Have a good one."
"Yeah," replied the man.
They walked off into different locations — one walking off grumpy, the other awkwardly jogging.
Stanley admired the uniqueness of this city. Each building, while not too tall, had been crafted and beautifully designed by carpenters, painters, and construction workers. They seemed to be built using only this planet's resources — minerals, clay, wood, stone, and more — to craft the city blocks Stanley was surrounded by. Even the pavement was as smooth as the one Stanley had touched earlier. Nature was still included everywhere. Trees were planted on the left side of Stanley, close to the road.
The concrete on the road was also smooth, even with its rough look of rough concrete that existed a long time ago. [TOUCH] Firm. Almost dehydrated.
The sky was starting to form dusk; the clouds slowly rose higher, moving closer together as the sun of this solar system prepared to say goodnight to the residents of Clifford. The summer colours of this planet merged into a harmony in the sky. Each part of the sky was coated in golden yellow, light purple, deep orange, and lilac, but there was more. Heat and cold resonated with each other, creating a blanket of soothing warmth around Stanley's entire body.
He knew how different this place was compared to other cities he had visited. This place was calm and filled to the brim with an atmosphere of freedom.
No wonder the traders and mining companies landed outside the Empire for this place. Sola Frechia. I will remember this place for its possibilities in advancing weaponry, combat, and technology. Maybe in comfort.
Stanley soon arrived at the corner of Lionsdale Road and turned right towards the street. It seemed a tad bit shady, because the road was mostly covered in the shadows of the two other buildings on each side. It was also quite small for being a road.
How the fuck can a car fit through this?
On the other side of the "tunnel" were more paths leading to destinations Stanley didn't care about.
Shit. Is it hotter, or am I confused?
Stanley was now adjusting to the unique atmosphere surrounding him. The further he walked, the hotter it seemed to get, while his nose smelled an array of unique, savoury, burnt fieriness that the bazaar close to him was radiating.
Massive tents were hung up, protecting visitors from the sun while they looked for products. Sail shades hung over every shop, mainly in red, orange, or brown, covering most of the people and families walking around. Crowds around popular shops were thick with people, while other stalls seemed empty. Food stalls with stools surrounding most were set up on dirt and had a nauseating, savoury smell, which irritated most who walked near the bazaar. Not Stanley, though — he walked closer.
Stanley's eyebrows scrunched up, deep in thought, while looking at a wooden hanging sign that read:
Cultured Bazaar of Cultured People
He walked in, trying not to look like a newcomer to the big bazaar of tents and wonders.
Holy, this is not a friendly environment.
The people Stanley walked among didn't seem to be of the same race as the other people who lived in East Bliford. They mostly shared darker skin tones, with unique garments in colours of red, orange, mauve, and brown. Most men seemed to wear long button-up robes with turbans, while women wore the same but with more accessories, like beads or another layer of black cloth around their clothes or head. Such a foreign environment was bound to make Stanley uncomfortable.
Oh my. Oh my fucking god. This is so uncomfortable. I feel their looks scratching my skin. I hate this.
His head slightly turned while walking through the bazaar, turning and looking for someone who seemed capable of transporting people.
Most people here seemed like they had moved great distances to be here. All of them had a somewhat healthy build of body fat and muscle — easy for surviving migration journeys in space shuttles. Everything being sold or displayed seemed to match the culture and race of the owner or family. Unique toys were displayed as though they were things many others actually knew how to use. Food stalls shared their specialities in varieties, while others, like butchers and fresh food market stalls, relied on the consumer looking for something in their huge inventory. Clothing stands showed many "creative" designs and fashionable choices for those who embraced it. The rest of the stalls mainly contained goods like trinkets, jewellery, flags, paint, and artistic tools. Extremely cheerful was a good description for the environment.
Stanley pauses for a millisecond after he spots a nearby stand with words carved into the raw metal:
Bazaar of Cultured People Informational Desk
There were also pieces of paper stapled onto the stand for information, such as timetables, location changes, upcoming stalls, and the history of the stand.
Stanley sprint-walks towards the info stall with a composed face, though his emotions inside were curious and ecstatic.
"Hey, mister?"
Stanley walks up to the man behind the stall with a sparkling tone and attitude.
"—Hold on, hold on. I'll be there."
The man, speaking in a foreign accent, was already talking with someone as Stanley politely barged in, because it seemed to be a friendly conversation, not a business one.
"Yes. What can I do for you, boss?"